I've Got Your Back
by Sweetloot
Summary: There's something off about Donut and, no, it's not what you're thinking. (Written for "RvB Secret Santa 2014" on tumblr).


"Just like this."

"Like this?"

"No, no, move your fingers more...yeah, that's it, you're getting it."

They had been at this for the past hour. Wash was facing Donut, the both of them sitting cross-legged on the floor. Wash had no idea how Donut had convinced Sarge to let him come over to the "enemies' base" these past few nights, but whatever he'd said must of worked because he's been there every night at six like clockwork.

This arrangement began when Wash started noticing the Red soldier's odd – well, _odder_ than normal– behavior. It wasn't difficult to pick up, actually. Wash has learned to pay attention to people, their expressions and mannerisms, both from growing up learning that those sorts of things were there own form of communication, and the fact that he's spent most of his adult life around people who have been covered head to toe in armor. Body language became very important when someone's face wasn't readily available, so he took notice to Donut's behavior rather quickly...

...but that doesn't mean he did anything about it. At least, not right away.

Wash first noticed his behavior during one of their first "official" meetings where both teams would meet up in the center of their "camp". This meeting was supposed to be about how they were going to erect their temporary base (he regretting his wording almost immediately when he was, yet again, reminded of his companions' maturity levels, a series of low snickering and giggling following his remark).

It was at this meeting – (which Caboose treated like they were going camping, him having dragged Tucker into finding "logs" to sit on around their "campfire", the logs being parts of their ruined Pelican and the campfire being another part of the Pelican that was, thankfully, not on fire) – that Wash started taking in the mannerisms and little ticks of the people around him. It was habit, really, him cataloging things about people. Before it had been a way to gauge an appointment, being able to find their weak points and use it against them, now it was just something he did automatically, with no real reason to have the facts stored in his mind other than to poke at idly when he couldn't sleep (which was more often than he would have liked, if he's being honest with himself).

He already had things about Blue Team tucked away, his being with them more frequently than the Reds making the job none too difficult.

Tucker tapped his foot, the left one, for the obvious reasons of irritation or impatience, but also out of boredom or from nerves he would never admit to. Wash knew the tapping wasn't anything to worry about when Tucker was drumming his fingers as well, both of those movements reflective of some tune caught in the private's head and not some pent up emotion he was about to shout in Wash's face.

Caboose bobbed his head a lot. He would nod vigorously, enthusiastically, when he agreed with something or was excited, but would just sort of sway is helmet, like it was caught in a breeze, when he was lost in his own head, looking up at the sky and thinking about...whatever Caboose thought about.

The Reds had an...interesting chemistry.

The most obvious was the almost co-dependent quality of Grif and Simmons. That's not to say they were _unhealthily_ attached to one another, but one would also be hard pressed not to lump the two together with how often they were seen standing side by side, bickering or just passing the time playing games of "would you rather" or "most useless superpower." At their makeshift "campfire" they sit side by side, by habit, and are so close they're almost touching – and they are touching when they end up elbowing each other in the ribs because of it.

Sarge's body movements always screamed closed off when the two teams were together. He would have his arms crossed across his chest, his shoulders squared, and he would be sitting as far back from Blue Team (and Grif) as possible. He never went anywhere without his shotgun, having it thrown across his back, leaning against his knee, or resting in his lap like an angry cat, ready to dig its claws into anything that Sarge deemed needing lead in its ass.

Lopez was a just a head sitting in the grass so there wasn't much Wash could glean from that.

Donut was very animated, waving his arms and gesturing when he talked. He would sit with one leg over the other, leaning forward to emphasize something, then switching which leg was over which as he leaned back, likely because he was just a buzz with energy that he couldn't keep his legs still. He usually sat with Sarge on his left and no one on his right. Wash didn't think this was strange since it appeared that most of the members on Red Team seemed that they could only take so much of being around Donut at a time, but then Wash began to notice a pattern: Donut never let anyone on his right.

At first Wash just thought it was a coincidence, but over the coming weeks it became too repetitive to be anything other than deliberate. Wash mulled this over, trying to figure out what could cause that preference, but when he found himself thinking about it more than he was thinking about how to repair the radio tower, he dropped the "mystery." Really, it was none of his business and he had more urgent things to think about.

That changed during the construction of the two bases. It was the evening, everyone in varying states of exhaustion, all gathered around with the MREs they were able to salvage from the wreckage. It was the same configuration as normal, Reds on one side, Blues on the other. They had actually found some old fallen logs to sit on this time, so Grif and Simmons shared one, Caboose, Tucker, and Wash on a rather large one, Sarge one by himself, and Donut having a large one to himself, sitting comfortably on everyone's left.

It was a fairly peaceful evening, dark except for the small fire that was slowly dieing from heating their meals. Everyone was tired and Wash didn't think much of it when Caboose stood up, thinking he was done and was going to bed, but instead he walked around the edge of their campfire towards Donut.

Caboose was shuffling his feet, the large man showing signs of being overly tired since today they had decided to tackle the largest pieces of their makeshift bases. Caboose wasn't exactly graceful on the best of days, but today he wasn't subtle about his movement, going over towards where his friend, flopping down beside him when a clumsy _thump._

Donut shrieked, dropping his half-eaten pack of food and bolting away the group, looking around the campsite frantically until he spotted Caboose. "Caboose! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

No one was wearing their helmets, but the dying embers of the fire cast more shadows than light now, so Wash couldn't tell exactly what Caboose's expression was. However, if his voice was anything to go by, then he must have looked as hurt as he sounded.

"But Major –"

Before Caboose could continue, he was cut off by Grif, who snorted, "Sneaking? Dude, Caboose sneaking is like an ox in a china shop –"

"That's bull –"

"What, Simmons, you suddenly think Caboose is a fucking ninja or something?"

"What? No, I meant that it's a bull, not an ox...you know what, forget it."

"As I was saying, it wasn't exactly like Caboose was being subtle, yet you still screamed like a little girl!" Grif was laughing, Simmons snickering a bit with Tucker chuckling into his food. Sarge just grumbled into his water, saying something about being too tired for this _'schoolyard pigtail pulling crap.'_

Donut just laughed it off, saying that he must have been more tired than he thought, before walking quickly towards the beginnings of Red Base, a hurried wave tossed over his shoulder before he disappeared completely.

Grif just raised an eyebrow at the space Donut previously occupied, muttering something like _'well, that wasn't suspicious at all'_, before he scooped down to pick up Donut's half-eaten MRE, much to the disgust of Simmons, who just glared at Grif eating from the dirt covered pack with the gusto.

"You're disgusting."

"Hey, food's food, man."

Wash ignored the pair, thinking over what he had just seen. That seemed to be a bit of severe reaction to being startled, especially if he was as tired as he said he was. Actually, his reaction reminded him of something...

It was a while before Wash could act on his thought, what with construction of bases and scavenging the wreckage, but he eventually found the opportunity early one morning.

The sun had just barely risen, but Wash was armored already. It was going to be a long day, the radio tower needed assembling and they had somehow lost the wrench they had found, meaning it was going to be an excruciating game of hide-and-seek that he really didn't want to play.

He needed coffee.

Sadly, they didn't have any, so he was going to have to settle for the packaged brown sludge they had found that was _labeled_ coffee, but was clearly a pack of lies and unhappiness.

Wash rubbed at his face, scratching the stubble on his chin before putting on his helmet. Well, no use delaying the inevitable.

Wash made his way outside, deciding to walk the perimeter of their camp before breakfast, when he spotted a familiar suit of pink armor.

The perimeter could wait.

Wash changed course so he was heading towards the other soldier. He knew it was none of his business, that he wasn't "officially" Donut's CO, but he couldn't drop the thought that had been nagging at him.

"Hey, Donut."

Donut turned to Wash, his helmet tucked under his arm and a smile on his face. "Oh, hey, Wash! What are you doing up so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing, you're not normally out when I first get up."

Donut chuckled self-consciously, "Heh, yeah. I was actually doing some early-morning yoga in the base, but I _may_ have accidentally hit Simmons in the face with my foot so they sent me out here..."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Wash was not good at this. Luckily, he didn't have to be.

"So," Donut started, a little unsure about the conversation, but willing to entertain it, "I was going to go make some breakfast. What to go start the fire? I could use the hand."

Wash nodded, relieved to have the direction. Maybe he'd be able to have this conversation after all.

The logs were collected, the MREs for the day distributed, and the fire lit in relative silence, the quiet only broken when they needed to have something passed to them, but then everything was ready and they had nothing left to do but to sit down and talk.

Wash took off his helmet, setting it aside so he could take a sip of his bitter coffee. He grimaced at the taste. No, drinking this was not better than having a conversation ignited by his own damnable curiosity.

"So, Wash, you ever been to Earth?"

And just like that, they started talking. The topics were light, steering clear of bigger subjects such as Project Freelancer and The Meta. They tried to avoid talking about their service, but when most of one's life has been dedicated to it, it becomes difficult not to, which was how Donut started taking about his time in Blood Gulch.

"...and they had me going off to go get elbow grease, elbow grease! Can you believe it!"

"No, no I can believe it."

"Well, they learned to appreciate my skill sets, eventually. I've got the best throwing arm on Red Team."

Wash just hummed into his coffee, it didn't taste so bad after he nearly burned off his taste-buds eating his food too soon. He was glad none of the Blues (Tucker, just Tucker, really) had seen that, he wasn't sure he could live down having to spit his food on the ground, tongue hanging like a dog in the hopes that it would cool faster. Donut had been gracious enough to only snicker for ten minutes. Tucker would have never let him live it down.

"Hey, you don't believe me, do you?"

"What, no, of course I believe you."

"Hey, mister, I'll have you know that I get enough sarcasm over at Red Base to recognize it from you too. Here, I'll prove it to you. See that flower over there by the woods? Bet you I can hit it with this pebble."

Wash set down his coffee, eying Donut carefully. He didn't look like he was lying. He was either overconfident so he believed in his skills wholeheartedly, or he could actually do it.

Wash crossed his arms, nodding his head towards the flower Donut had pointed too. "Go ahead."

Donut grinned, snatching the pebble from off the ground before chucking it at the flower. If Wash had not had his eye on the flower beforehand, he would have sworn it had never been there what with the way the petals detached themselves from the base as it was hit, scattering to the ground in a sad display of confetti.

Wash could feel his eyebrows disappearing into this hairline, but he wasn't embarrassed about it. That was one hell of a shot.

"Wow, good shot, Donut."

Donut's grin was pleased with a touch of smug as he settled back on his log, continuing to eat. "Thank you, but you should have seen the time I hit Tex with a sticky grenade. Now _that_ was a shot!"

Wash had known about Tex's robotic body being destroyed in Blood Gulch, but he hadn't know Donut had been the one to do it.

"That was you?"

"Yep!" Donut grinned before the corners of his mouth pulled down a bit, "Well, I feel bad about it _now_, but she had deserved it then! She tried to kill me!"

Wash was taking a stab at the dark here, but he used his fork to gesture to the right side of Donut's face, "You mean she deserved it because of that?"

Wash knew he had struck a cord with the way Donut's face heated up, a blush traveling up his neck with scars that spider-webbed up with it. His ears turned red, the right one missing a good chuck of the top. The blush finally stopped at his cheeks with the scars under his eye, an eye that had to have been dangerously close to being lost.

Donut rubbed at the back of his neck, fingers dragging down and over the scarred tissue before landing in his lap. "Yeah."

Wash knew he had to press forward if he wanted to hep the private, so he did it quick, like removing a bandage. "Was that when you lost your hearing in that ear?"

Donut looked up at Wash so quickly that Wash's own neck twinged in sympathy. Donut's eyes were wide, staring at Wash in disbelief, before he chucked nervously, trying to deflect Wash. "What? Why would you think –"

"You're not very obvious about it if that's what you're worried about."

Donut seemed to deflate a little, but he still looked uneasy.

"Donut, have you told anyone?"

Donut just shook his head, eyes set on the ground. "Didn't think they needed to know..."

"Why? They're your team. They could have been having your back before now."

Donut's voice was bitter when he spoke. "Didn't think they needed another reason to tease me."

Wash was confused, and was about to voice it, when Donut continued.

"I mean, I know that they're not being mean to be _mean_, but I got enough hate for being who I am at home. Didn't think I'd get it in space too..."

Oh, this was _way_ more than Wash was bargaining for when it had started this conversation. He wasn't sure what to say, but it appeared that Donut didn't expect him to anyway since all he did was shrug his shoulders before speaking again.

"It's fine though, I'm used to it. I just didn't think I could take the cracks at my orientation and my disability. A person can only take so much, you know?"

Wash knew that all too well.

Donut cleared his throat, moving the conversation along. "So, how long have you known?"

Wash drew his attention back to the topic at hand. "A few weeks now."

Donut's shoulders sagged. "How'd you figure it out?"

Wash then proceeded to explain Donut's preference for keeping people on his left, the way that he hadn't noticed Caboose shuffling towards him until he sat down, creating vibrations that startled Donut since he hadn't been able to hear him come up from that side, and the fact that he reminded Wash of someone.

Donut looked up, a curious look on his face, "Who?"

Wash didn't want to say it, but he figured it was time at least one person knew. "Me."

Donut was quiet, looking at Wash with an intense expression, before nodding slowly, processing what Wash said. "So what happens now?"

What happened next was Wash extending an invitation to Donut to visit Blue Base in the evenings so that Donut could have someone he could relate to, someone that knew what he was struggling with.

"So that's the alphabet?"

"Yep."

Donut looked down at his hand, smiling at it then up at Wash. "That wasn't so bad. When'd you learn sign language?"

Donut had been asking a lot about Wash's past, but it wasn't something he liked to talk about. David was David and Wash was Wash. He didn't like to mix the two, but it was difficult not to when talking about something that was a part of both David _and_ Wash.

Wash sighed, "When I was about eight I lost most of my hearing in both ears when I got Scarlet Fever. My parents enrolled in sign language classes with me and I had took them ever since. I got hearing aids, then cochlear implants when it was decided that they would help me more."

Donut nodded, "I was wondering about that since I couldn't see any."

Wash laughed a little. "Even if I did have them they'd be difficult to see unless you got really close. But the implants are almost invisible under my hair." Wash lifted up part of his hair in demonstration.

Donut whistled, impressed, "Wow, eventually they won't need anything on the outside at all, huh?"

Wash let his hair fall back into place, "You never know, technology can be a great thing when it's in the right hands."

If Donut caught the allusion to The Director, he didn't let it show, instead looking down at his hand so that he could run through the alphabet again on his own while Wash fiddled with Donut's helmet in his lap, hoping that he could make some sort of pseudo-hearing aid device until they could get back to civilization with people that knew what they were doing more so than Wash did. Donut had told Wash that he could hear very, very faintly, but not enough to be very helpful. Wash was hoping that maybe he could rig something up for him. Donut had been doing fine without it before, but they were on an unknown and possible hostile world, so Wash wanted Donut to have all the edge he could get.

It would take more than a few sessions for Donut to understand a whole new language, but Wash was willing to teach him. Hell, maybe they could both start teaching everyone else, give them a way to communicate when they needed radio silence. It was mostly just wishful thinking, the other's stubbornness and laziness likely going to put a wrench in that plan, but it was a nice thought.

Wash tossed Donut back his helmet, gesturing for him to put it on. Donut did, a bit hesitantly, but after a minute there was static on Wash's radio, Donut's voice coming in through the speakers:

"Thanks, Wash."

Wash smiled, "I've got your back."


End file.
